


Won't change a thing (you're still my best friend)

by yellowteapots



Series: But I just know I'll be fighting next to you [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowteapots/pseuds/yellowteapots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title taken from The Sea of Monsters.</p><p>When Clarke is twelve her life changes in a way that she never expected. Her life changes a lot over the course of the next few summers and most of that is down to Bellamy Blake.</p><p>or a Percy Jackson au that nobody but me asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't change a thing (you're still my best friend)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this! It took a lot longer to finish than it did to write the first draft but I hope it was worth the effort.
> 
> Not too happy with the ending but I wasn't sure how I wanted the story to end (spoiler alert: I kind of didn't want it to end).
> 
> Also this fic is not Finn friendly so just be aware of that if you're his fan.
> 
> (Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine alone.)

It all starts when Clarke Griffin turns twelve years old. She doesn't notice all that much to begin with- her ADHD has always had a way of playing tricks with her in the past – but when her biology teacher turns into some sort of lizard thing (a Dracaena, she learns later) that she begins to take notice of all the things that she shouldn't be able to see.

 

A few hours after one of the boys in her class – a tall, well built boy named Lincoln – stabs their teacher, Clarke finds herself saying goodbye to her parents and trekking her way through the woods, all she has from her old life is tossed haphazardly inside a tattered rucksack. All she's been told by Lincoln – aside from the fact that he's a Satyr (whatever the hell that is) – is that he's taking her to some sort of summer camp for kids like her. She probably should have seen this coming, though, really. She had always thought that Lincoln was far too tall, far too broad and far too bald to be a student in her sixth grade class but she'd just assumed that he'd been held back a few times or something – but the goat legs were definitely a surprised. She's pretty sure that her jaw nearly hit the floor when he had shown her. How was this her life now?

 

After meeting a Satyr, Clarke thinks that stumbling across a boy camping on his own in the woods probably isn't the weirdest part of her day. He'd been listening to a wind up radio before the two of them had stumbled into the clearing, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw then. All that Lincoln manages to get out of the boy before he passes out is that his name is Wells and that he's on the run from his demon step-mum – figures. Clarke slumps down next to the small fire that Wells had managed to light and groans when Lincoln stamps on the flames, distinguishing them. Lincoln seems to think that this boy and Clarke are alike in some way and decides that they should all get some rest before the three of them set off again as soon as it was light.

 

So that's how she finds herself waking up in the woods, leaves in her hair, backpack stuffed underneath her head as a pillow. For a moment or so she just relaxes, watching the morning light filter through the trees. It's calming and probably the last bit of peace that she's going to get for while so she may as well get the most of it.

 

“Morning.” Clarkes head snaps up, suddenly alert, her hand clutching her small knife (her mother had pressed it into her palm before she'd left, telling her not to be afraid). She visibly relaxes when she notices the boy from the night before, crouching next to her. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. My name's Wells...Jaha.” he smiles, holding his hand out towards her.

 

She sits up, shaking his hand. “Clarke Griffin, pleased to meet you.”

 

Clarke nearly reaches for her knife again when she hears a series of soft footfalls making their way through the woods behind them, until Lincoln emerges from the trees and passes her a canteen full of water.

 

“It's good that you're both up so early,” he grunts. “We're going to need to get going if we're going to make it. With the two of you the scent will be so much stronger.” he mumbles, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

 

“Excuse me, are you saying I smell?” she nearly spits out her water, affronted.

 

He laughs humourlessly. “In a way, yes. But not in the way that you think, I should probably explain a bit more.”

 

“Uh, yeah, you should.” Clarke snarks, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and brushing most of the leaves out of her hair.

 

“Half-bloods life you -”

 

Wells splutters, “Half-what's?”

 

“Half-blood. It's what you both are. Demi-god is another name that you might have heard.” he glances between the blanched faces of the kids before him. “I know that it's a lot to take in but you need to believe what I’m saying to you for now – the more you know, the danger this is going to be for all of us. Once we get to camp you'll learn more about what you are. Now, as I was saying, your kind -”

 

“Why do you say that like you're no like us?” Wells interrupts for a second time.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Because he's a Satyr apparently, keep up.”

 

Lincoln doesn't even bat an eyelid so Clarke assumes that he either has a lot of patience or he spends a lot of time doing this, or maybe both. (It's his job, he tells her over dinner that night, so she supposes that makes sense – apart from the whole half goat thing). “Demi-gods have a certain aroma. It's what attracts the monsters to you, the ones you've both been seeing, and it tells them, and me, what you are and the more of you that are together, the stronger the scent. It's only a matter of time so we've got to keep moving.”

 

“And why should we trust you?” Wells glares as they begin walking.

 

“Because if I wanted you dead then we wouldn't be having this conversation and, right now, I’m all that you've got.”

 

They walk in silence for about half an hour, just the sounds of the leaves under their feet and the occasional bird song rippling through the trees. The trees grow a lot denser as they near a small stream and Lincoln encourages them to drink and fill up their canteens.

 

“My Dad was Major, you know, before he uh wasn't.” Wells mumbles once they're on the move again, weaving between some thinner trees as they approach a small road. Clarke doesn't know what to say so she opt for a nod in his direction. “Granted, Arcadia isn't all that big but it was home. He had, uh, just started seeing this news reporter and, uh, she well wasn't what she seemed.” His voice starts to get all watery then but Clarke manages to get most of the story out of him before he goes quite – she's secretly glad that she's not the only one who had some crazy lady turn into a beast right in front of them.

 

She shrugs, “My teacher tried to kill me, and not by boring me to death with homework.”

 

And that's the end of that.

 

-

 

Wells never makes it to camp and Clarke can't help but think it's her fault.

 

They should have expected it really. The rest of their journey had gone without incident, so it only seemed fitting that trouble should strike not even half a mile from the border line, just as the camp was coming into view on the horizon.

“Do you see it?” Lincoln asks, pointing West as the group come to a stop next to a small road.

 

The area seems extremely quiet, just the sort of place she imagines that a Summer Camp would be – the middle of nowhere. The road looks like it's hardly used and there's a dirt track leading down from the direction of the camp, so it probably only gets used for deliveries.

 

Clarke shuffles closer to him, eyes following the line of his finger towards a cluster of tall trees on the verge of the next hill. “That's the camp, those trees?” she asks dubiously.

 

“That's just the boarder line. Once we get past that, we'll be safe.” he pauses then, tilting his head off to the side as if he's heard something. He'd done that a lot whilst they've been travelling so Clarke assumes it's a false alarm like it has been up until now.

 

Up until now, Wells had been trailing behind them. “Why have we stopped?” he asks. “I don't have a great feeling about this place. I'd rather we kept going.”

 

Clarke smiles, easily. “It's okay, we're nearly there now.”

 

Lincoln takes a step forward, sniffing the air. “Do either of you smell that?”

 

“No....” It's the last thing that leaves Wells lips before he's yanked into the air from behind and tossed across the road like a rag doll. He slams into a tree with a sickening snap that can be heard even across the road, before slumping to the floor.

 

The satyr curses, pulling a blade out from underneath his coat, shoving Clarke behind him with his other arm. “Whatever happens, Clarke, you need to get past those trees. You need to get to camp, they can help you there.”

 

“What about you?” Clarke whispers, wiping a tear away with her sleeve, trying to take a deep breath.

 

“I don't matter. You do.”

 

The earth begins to shake, huge footfalls reverberating around them and echoing along the tree line, it feels like the earth is quaking in fear but that could just be Clarke. The sounds surrounds them and then there's another crash, a tree cracking and falling to the ground.

 

The pair whip around, trying to find the source of the sound as another tree gets pushed out of the way. A man – even Clarke knows him to be a giant – emerges from the forest, a snarl plastered across his face.

 

“In the bag,” Lincoln breathes. “There's a horn. Use it. Now. We can't handle this ourselves. This isn't what killed Wells, whatever that is is still out there.”

 

Clarke feels the blood drain from her face. She'd just assumed that this man, giant, whatever, had been the one to hurt Wells, but knowing that there was something else, perhaps more dangerous, lurking nearby, sends a chill dancing up her spine.

 

“Clarke! The horn!” Lincoln shouts.

 

She fumbles with the straps of the bags as they flail wildly underneath her trembling fingers.

 

The giant moves forward, effortlessly snapping a tree in half and brandishing it in his hand like a baseball bat. He lunges, taking a swing at Lincoln, narrowly missing him as he leaps backwards – dragging Clarke back by her sleeve. The tree smacks into the ground, denting the soil, earth trembling under their feet once again.

 

She scrambles behind a tree, finally freeing the horn from Lincoln's bag. Clarke lets the bag drop to the floor, bringing the horn to her lip before blowing as hard as she can into the mouthpiece. The sound of it rips through the trees and for a moment the giant looks stunned. It doesn't take him long to recover though as he soon takes another swing at Lincoln.

 

There's a rustle in the trees and Clarke spins around, eyes wild and hand firmly on her knife. She ducks out of instinct as something comes hurtling towards her – some kind of barb whistling past her head - and then she trips on something and finds herself falling backwards into the road.

 

She's still lying on her back when a blood-curdling roar erupts from the tree line. She can see the foliage moving and she can tell that there's something large pacing just out of sight. And whatever than something is, it's the creature that killed Wells.

 

Her heart is beating in her ears, nearly blocking out all the other noise going on around her, panic rising within her. God, she's only twelve years old with a loving Mum and Dad, so how has this happening to her? How has her life changed so dramatically in only a few short days.

 

Another roar echoes in the trees and Clarke can't seem to breath. The air feels too thick. Everything seems to fall silent, even the birds have quieted around them. Suddenly, the trees part before her and some kind of huge animal – part lion, part something else – is launching itself in her direction.

 

She takes a deep breath – one she's positive will be her last – and she closes her eyes, ready, holding her golden knife above her as tightly as she can.

 

But the attack never comes.

 

Clarke hears a pitiful yelp and her eyes fly open. The creature is lying on its back, taking its last few laboured breaths, a spear protruding out of its chest. She can feel the bile rising in her stomach, burning at the base of her throat, as she watches the beast begin to disintegrate to ash before her eyes.

 

A boy appears at her side, then, all tanned skin, untamed hair and freckles. He extends a hand to her and pulls her off the floor, easy smile finding its way onto his face as if he didn't just save her life. He's kind of cute in a sort of _I don't brush my hair or care about my appearance in the slightest_ kind of way but he's just saved her life so it's okay to feel like this, right?

 

“Thank you.” she breathes, watching as the boy strides over and pulls his spear out of the ground.

 

“No problem, Princess.” he smirks. She turns round and sees streams of kids running down the hill towards them, brandishing an assortment of weapons.“But can we talk later, I’ve got a giant to deal with.”

 

And that's how Clarke Griffin meets Bellamy Blake.

 

-

 

“So let me get this straight. You're a son of Ares, God of war. Okay, so what does that make me then?”

 

She's sat in the infirmary, Chiron insisting that she should get a once over before she gets the tour of camp, trying to get her heard around all of the information being thrown at her. She's been given a few chunks of Ambrosia and she was already feeling so much better.

 

“I don't know.” Bellamy shrugs. “None of us do until your parent claims you.”

 

He'd come to visit her as soon as she'd been patched up, one of the girls in the cot opposite told her he'd been waiting outside. He had wandered in, orange t-shirt in tatters, twiddling her knife in his hands.

 

“But I already have two parents, does that make one of them a god or something?” she asks, twisting her blonde hair into a braid.

 

He laughs. “Uh, not really. It just means that either your mum or your dad is actually your step-mum or dad.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.” And that's as far as the conversation goes.

 

He tells her about his brothers and sisters – he's most enthusiastic about Octavia, she's his full sister which is apparently rarer than a child of the Big Three – and how he'd been claimed, plunging a sword into an Empousai's heart just before he and Octavia had arrived at camp.

 

She learns that until her godly parent claims her she'll be staying in Cabin Eleven with the children of Hermes and the other undetermined kids that are waiting to be claimed. Bellamy assures her that Miller, the cabins councillor, will take care of her and then he offers to walk her across camp to find her and introduce her to his best friend.

 

A couple of kids wave at them as they walk through the centre of the camp, kids shouting their greetings at Bellamy and the odd slap on his back. Even though he's only a year older than her, Clarke can tell that Bellamy is already a popular member of camp. She can't help but notice a few of the girls blush as he waves in their direction and she feels a knot tighten in her stomach – probably just nerves.

 

A half circle of cabins soon come into view, hidden in amongst a ring of trees. As far as she can tell all all of the cabins are roughly the same size but each of them are constructed in different materials, a few cabins even look as though they've been unoccupied for a long time.

 

Bellamy comes to a halt in front of the first cabin. “This is you.” he smiles, knocking against the door.

 

Clarke hears a few muffled voices behind the door having some kind of argument behind the door.

 

Bellamy sighs and knocks again.

 

Eventually, the door swings open and a tall boy wearing a beanie nods at them both. “What's up, Blake?”

 

“Miller, this is Clarke.” she waves. “Clarke this is Miller.”

 

“Is she...?”

 

“Undetermined? Yeah. Can you help her get settled in? I promised O I'd ask Raven if she's finished making her those throwing stars she promised.” he turns to Clarke. “Not regulation but she thinks she's a god damn samurai or something.”

 

Miller nods and steps to the side to let Clarke slide into the room.

 

“See you at dinner.” Bellamy calls over his shoulder as he disappears past the trees.

 

Miller shows Clarke around the packed cabin, handing her a spare mattress and offering her a space of the floor.

 

“We're a bit over crowded kinda always so I hope you don't mind the floor for now.” the older boy shrugs apologetically.

 

“Trust me. It's a vast improvement from the woods.” she smiles.

 

“Oh and just a quick warning Clarke, my siblings can be a little light fingered. We, uh, take after our father that way – god of thieves, you know.” he tilts an eyebrow, producing her knife from behind his back. Her mouth drops open. “Take care Clarke.”

 

-

 

The following Friday Clarke is feeling much more settled, well, as settled as you can be when you're about to go to war. Okay, not war but allegedly this game comes pretty close.

 

She still hasn't been claimed but she's made herself at home with Miller and the rest of the cabin so she doesn't mind all that much that she hasn't had to move cabin yet. She's made a few friends, mostly from Bellamy's circle, and they've all made her feel welcome. It's all starting to feel...normal?

 

“You ready, Princess?” Bellamy teases, sauntering over in his armour. “You're going to wish Miller had allied with us once we're through with this game.”

 

She snorts. “You wish. We're going to crush you.”

 

At first, Clarke had been disappointed when she'd heard that she wasn't going to be on his team for capture the flag, but now she was almost sure that this way was going to be just as fun. She was ready to show him and the rest of the camp what Clarke Griffin was made of.

 

This weeks match was between cabin five and cabin six. Miller had decided to ally with the children of Athena, much to the annoyance of Bellamy, and their team was completed by Dionysus and Demeter's cabins. Bellamy hadn't seemed all that fazed though since he told her that he'd managed to get Wick – Apollo's councillor – to ally with cabin five along with the children of both Hephaestus and Aphrodite.

 

“Whatever you say.” Bellamy rolls his eyes and then Octavia and his half brother Murphy appear at his sides, flanking him – she has to admit that they look intimidating standing together like that – and then she bids him goodbye as the teams part ways.

 

She follows behind Miller, who's speaking strategy with Monty Green from cabin six, to their side of the creek. She thinks maybe the friendship between the two boys isn't as platonic as they might want to admit and that's probably why Miller chose to ally this way rather than with his best friend.

 

She sees a few other campers that she knows on her team; Jasper, a boy from cabin twelve and one of Demeter's daughters, Harper, who looks like she's ready to turn someone into a piece of corn.

 

Monty parts with Miller, a smile playing on both boys lips as Monty jogs over to join Jasper. Miller then turns to her and fills her in on the plan, the Hermes kids are tasked with distracting the guards so that Monty or one of his siblings can sweep the area before managing to secure the flag.

 

“Just remember,” Miller begins. “No-one's allowed to deliberately hurt you so as long as you fight smart then you'll be fine. Besides, no-one wants to lose dessert privileges.

 

“Okay.” she says but she's not reassured – some people don't even like dessert.

 

A few minutes later the conch horn sounds and campers are charging through the trees, splitting off in all directions, battle cries in the air. She freezes for a second, feeling the weight of the sword in her hand, before running after the rest of her team into the woods.

 

The trees are dense on either side of her as Clarke weaves in between the trees, the sounds of battle coming from all directions, but she pushes on until her feet splash through the creek and she finds herself in enemy territory. She hears a twig snap and her head flies around in time to see Octavia charging through the woods, spear in one hand and a terrifying shield in the other. The girl may only be Clarke's age but she's probably the most fierce person that Clarke has ever seen. In an attempt to avoid sparring with the other girl, she ducks behind a tree until Octavia disappears out of sight.

 

It's quiet for a while, her own steps are the only thing that she can hear so she thinks that she's probably wandered too far into the woods. That is until she hears Bellamys laughter as it ripples through the trees. Clarke stills and listens.

 

A body flies into her from behind, pressing her against a tree, hand over her mouth.

 

“Clarke, hey, it's me.” Monty whispers removing his hand. “Nate...I mean Miller has been captured so now I need your help, right now. Do you think you can do it?”

 

Clarke nods enthusiastically, knowing this is her chance to show Bellamy who's boss. “What is it that you want me to do?”

 

-

 

She stumbles into the clearing, clutching her shoulder, crimson oozing out of the rip in her shirt.

 

“Princess is that you?” Bellamy calls, running over and crouching at her side. “Gods! Are you okay?”

 

“Bellamy...?” she breathes. “My shoulder...it hurts.”

 

He glances around, looking for anyone else in case this is a trap, and once he sees that Wick is the only person in sight, pacing up and down in front of the flag about fifty yards behind him.

 

Bellamy is about to turn her over when she slams her fist into his nose with so much force it sends him flying. Wick whips around, stunned, and the next thing she sees is Monty leaping down out of a tree, knocking Wicks bow clean out of his hands and clattering towards her. Clarke scrambles for it, taking advantage of Bellamys dazed state, notching an arrow and sending it flying towards the flag.

 

“Hey!” Wick shouts, but it's too late.

 

The arrow pierces the fabric of the flag, ripping it from its standard and tugging it through the air. It flies straight into the waiting hands of Jasper, and then the other boy takes off at a run, heading for the boundary line.

 

“Clarke!” Bellamy groans, hand over his bloody nose.

 

“I know, I'm sorry.” she sighs, bending over to help him up.

 

He shakes his head. “No. No, look. You're being claimed.”

 

She looks up and sees it. A golden sun blazing above her head, making her hair shine.

 

“Nice one, sis!” Wick cheers, clapping her on the back. “I’ll let you off this time. You fight dirty, I like it!”

 

-

 

“Urgh! How many times do I have to apologise?” Clarke groans, dodging the blade coming for her head with ease. “It was two years ago, Bell, get over it already!”

 

“Never.” he yells, using his shield to block her attack. “A betrayal like that really affects a person, Clarke.”

 

Clarke can't help but roll her eyes. “You used my actual name, you must be serious, but it's not like you didn't get me back.”

 

“True.” he grins, thrusting his sword towards her. “But at least I didn't shamelessly play with your emotions.”

 

She's about to say something witty but Raven charges into the arena. “Come on, nerds, time for lunch.”

 

“What? Already?” Clarke asks, wiping the sweat from her brow. It was unseasonably warm for the time of year, their early morning duelling causing her to sweat almost as much as a practice run on the climbing wall.

 

“Yep.” Raven calls, already heading back towards the mess hall. “You guys have been at it for hours.”

 

Clarke does not blush at the double meaning – she doesn't.

 

Bellamy glances down towards his wrist, eyeing the dial. “Looks like she's right. Come on, I'm starving.”

 

The pair prop their weapons up against the stand, shucking off their armour, before making their way across camp.

 

When she thinks about it, trailing behind the Latina girl with Bellamy at her heels, Clarke realises how glad she is that Raven is speaking to her again. They had never really come into contact with one another before the previous summer – although she'd heard plenty about the other from Wick – but the cold looks she'd received from the brunette had actually scared her – she's heard about all sorts of contraptions down in Bunker Nine – not that she's ever admit that to anyone.

 

Put mildly, Finns return from his quest wasn't as smooth as he would have liked. Not even his charm-speak could help him out when the two very different girls had rushed to welcome him home with a kiss. Needless to say, it had not ended well, but Raven eventually came around realising that it hadn't been Clarke's fault and that they were both being played. Apparently Finn had thought that since Raven spent most of her time tinkering away on her latest project in the forge that she wouldn't notice if he got a bit too friendly with the Apollo girl at the archery range.

 

“I never liked him.” Bellamy remarks, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was almost as if he'd read her mind.

 

“Who?” she asks as they make their way into the mess hall, campers spread out all around them sitting with their siblings. “You don't like a lot of people, Bell, so it's kind of hard to narrow it down.”

 

“Aphrodite's least charming son.” he frowns, scraping an offering off his plate and into the fire.

 

“Careful what you say.” she chides, popping a grape into her mouth. Then in a whisper, “Can't say I disagree with you though.”

 

For a moment he looks nostalgic. “So worth giving up dessert for a week.”

 

“You're such a dork.” she smiles, eyes rolling.

 

Bellamy laughs, low and warm, before waving and heading off in the direction of the Ares table.

 

She slumps down between Wick and Sterling, her tray clattering against the table.

 

“So, you and Blake seem close.” Wick begins, smirking when she looks up from her food, affronted.

 

She sighs. “He's my best friend, Kyle, you tend to be close with your friends.”

 

“I've seen the way you two look at each other.” He pushes, taking a bite from his apple.

 

“Look, I have no idea what you're talking about.” she can't hide her blush and thankfully neither of her half-brothers comment on it. “I could say the same about you and Raven.” she adds pointedly.

 

“She's right man.” Sterling snorts. “You've only got three years left to make a move.”

 

After that the bags are suitably distracted that neither of them notice the few lingering glances she sends in Bellamys direction as he chats animatedly with his sister.

 

-

 

A lot of things change the summer that Clarke turns sixteen; some good, some bad and some are nothing to do with her at all.

 

Raven had insisted that they should arrive at the lakeside in plenty of time, so the group had decided to bend the rules ever so slightly and had decided to picnic by the lake as the sun set behind them.

 

This year, the mammoth end of summer fire work display had been entrusted to Raven,. Hephaestus' daughter had been working tirelessly for weeks, trying to make everything perfect, and Clarke had barely seen her at all. She'd seen Miller dropping food off in the bunker so she just assumed that Raven was holed up there, scouring through her plans.

 

Sitting on the bank, chequered blanket laid out beneath them, the group passed around a flask of nectar – or at least that's what Jasper said it was but given his parentage and his, ahem, track record they couldn't be sure. Clarke had grown used to being wary of any liquid the boy gave to her after the incident on her fifteenth birthday. Drinks aside, everyone around camp had been looking forward to this evening, spirits were high and energy was buzzing in the air.

 

The sun was sinking low in the sky and it was times like this that Clarke likes to think about her family – both mortal and immortal.

 

Apparently, when she had arrived at camp everyone had pegged her for a child of Athena – the blonde hair, blue eyes and sharp wit seeming to fit the bill. There had been a part of her that had secretly hoped that this would be the case – she'd always been closer with her father (step-dad, now, she supposes) – but she thinks that her being Apollo's kid makes a lot more sense. Her mother's a surgeon, a really good one, and Clarke gets so many of her attributes from her mum and she guesses her godly father too – especially their shared aptitude for healing. Her inclination towards art, however, was the one thing that she was sure that she had inherited solely from her father. Since being at camp she's pretty sure she's drawn everything worth drawing at least twice – except her friends whose images filled pages and pages.

 

Almost as if he knows what she's thinking about – he probably does, he know her too well – Bellamy leans over. “It's time like these, the sun setting behind you and making your hair all golden and, uh, nice that you can really see who your father is.”

 

She feels her cheeks heat up. “That and I kick your ass at target practice.”

 

“He definitely gave you his good looks too.” he murmurs, nudging her with his elbow as a lopsided grin spreads lazily across his face.

 

“Okay, so now I know that Jasper spiked this with something.” she teases, sloshing the liquid around in her cup.

 

He opens his mouth and it looks as though he's about to say something else but before he can Raven comes along and squashes herself between them.

 

Clarke can feel the excitement from her as the other girl bounces up and down beside her. “Are you guys ready? This year is going to be the best year ever thanks to yours truly.”

 

“Yeah, we're counting on it.” Clarke smiles. “That's why we picked you.”

 

Raven isn't wrong. The show is truly spectacular, battles lighting up the sky and weaving between the stars as the constellations seem to come to life before their eyes. The whole camp seems to be holding their breath, completely mesmerized and not wanting to shatter the magic.

 

“Just wait for it.” Raven whispers. “I've got one last surprise up my sleeve.”

 

There's a pause, the sky falling silent, and Clarke thinks for a moment that it's almost as beautiful like this – not that she'd ever tell Raven. Suddenly, five single rockets fire up into the sky, whizzing through the right until they explode in a shower of golden light. The sparks weave themselves carefully into letter, glistening high in the sky.

 

_'M be mine? - N'_

 

Clarke feels a warmth blossoming in her heart as she hears Monty gasping behind her. She turns to face them just as Monty is shyly looping his arms around Millers neck and bringing him closer. Clarke chooses to look away, then, deeming the moment too intimate to intrude on.

 

She can feel someone looking at her, the gaze making her feel itchy, uncomfortable.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Bellamy asks, following her gaze. He puts a hand on her shoulder, standing protectively behind her.

 

“Nothing I can't handle.” she grimaces, catching Finns gaze through the ground.

 

“I know.” he says. “But it was so much fun the last time.”

 

She fake swoons, palm against her forehead. “You mean you'd give up your dessert for me twice?”

 

He collapses down onto his knee, holding her hand. “I'd give up my dessert a thousand times for you, Princess.”

 

“My hero!” she snarks, pulling him off the floor.

 

“Hey, less of the sarcasm. It may not be gold writing in the sky but I'm trying here.”

 

She doesn't know how to take that but thankfully they get caught up in the celebrations before she has time to respond.

 

There are a few more changes after that. A new girl stumbles into camp one night, she's called Anya, daughter of Athena, but she doesn't stay long before she's bundled off on a quest. That doesn't mean she doesn't leave a lasting effect – Clarke is pretty sure Finns ego (and his nose) is going to be bruised for a while to come. The strawberry fields nearly swamp the camp when Harper and Monroe begin to argue and the plants start to spring up beneath their feet and spread across the grass.

 

The worst change, though, the one that hurts the most, is when Clarke learns that her dad is dead. Phones are banned at camp – they're too dangerous – so she hears the news from Chiron over breakfast. It's a chilly Sunday morning but no-one dares to get in her way as she storms out of the mess hall in just her camp shirt and pyjama shorts.

 

Bellamy finds her sending arrow after arrow towards the moving targets in the archery range. It's kind of her place to go when she wants to be alone and everyone knows it but he's the only one who would dare to come and find her. So she probably should have picked somewhere else if she had wanted to stay hidden. Maybe that was the problem, though, maybe she wanted to be found.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

She grunts. “I guess you've heard then.”

 

“I think Wick is permanently scared after you chewed him out earlier, you can be pretty scary when you're angry.” he sighs, rubbing a hand at the base of his neck – his tell – as he settles on one of the bleachers. “Clarke, I'm sorry.”

 

“Thanks. I, uh, just wish I could have said good bye, you know?”

 

“I know. I...I just came to say that I'm here if you need anything, if you want to talk or not talk or...?”

 

She sighs, “I don't want to talk about it. Not yet.”

 

He gets up. “I guess I'll leave you to it then.”

 

“No!” she pauses. “Just, uh, could you just stay with me for a while. Please.”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Maybe you could get some practice in, you know how horrible you are at archery.” she's not even looking at the target but she still manages to hit the bull, as if to prove the point.

 

It's dark when they eventually leave and the camp is mostly quiet as they traipse past the Big House and on through the camp. A few people are sat on the dock, it's too dark to see who it is but she knows that Octavia likes to meet Lincoln there on the nights she knows that Bellamy won't see them.

 

“So,” Bellamy begins, coming to a stop outside her cabin. “This is you.”

 

“Yep.” she turns, about to retreat into her cabin, but changes her mind at the last second. “Thanks, Bell. I really appreciated you being there for me today.”

 

He shrugs. “I didn't really do anything.”

 

“I find that silently brooding is much better when you aren't alone.” she leans up onto her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “Night, Bellamy.”

 

He doesn't react and then she's disappeared into the cabin. The door slams behind her and jolts him back to life. “Good night, Princess.”

 

-

 

When she's seventeen, and been at camp for five years, she wakes up after an unusually good night sleep. It's a day like any other, Sterling is snoring in the bunk above her and Wick is tugging on his boots, but this isn't an ordinary day, it's the day that he's leaving for his quest.

 

She groans, stretching out, as she glances across at her alarm clock and nearly falls out of bed when she sees the time.

 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” she curses, tripping over her boots in her haste as she fumbles for her orange camp shirt. Somehow she manages to tug it over her head only stubbing her toe twice in the process – which she takes as an achievement. As she passes through camp she can't be bothered to be embarrassed by the strange looks the others give her. Her hair's in a mess, she's running barefoot through camp and she's pretty sure her jeans are on inside out as she heads for the border line.

 

“Hey Clarke, -” Monty begins.

 

“Can't stop, talk later.” she calls over her shoulder. “Sorry!”

 

She makes a mental note to apologise to Monty later and then Clarke has to physically push her way through a group of nymphs – many of whom cuss her out as she leaves them in her wake – and then she finally manages to catch sight of him standing on the ridge of the hill, backpack trapped on tightly and nervously pacing up and down.

 

“Bellamy!”

 

His head whirls around so quickly that she thinks for a second that his neck might snap but she knows that's a stupid thought. That sends her thoughts in a much darker direction, she know much worse things could befall him as soon as he leaves the camp but she can't think about that possibility. She runs up the embankment and can see the smile that's lighting up his face. For a moment she's struck by how much older he looks this summer. He's got a scar running across his lip, now, one of Artemis' huntresses had been a little heavy handed in their last 'friendly' match of capture the flag. If she'd stopped that girl from thinking twice about doing it again then the loss of dessert was certainly worth it – not that it mattered all that much, Bellamy always gave her half of his anyway.

 

“I thought I was going to have to leave without saying goodbye.”

 

“I know, I'm sorry. I overslept.” she left out the part where she'd been up all night worrying.

 

He shrugs, “You're here now, that's the main thing.”

 

“I, uh, ran across camp. I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye in case...” she trails off, dropping her gaze. They all know how dangerous quests can be.

 

They both shuffle awkwardly as if they're dancing around one another. Clarke watches him fiddle with the strap on his bag and then brings her hand on his to still him.

 

“This is it then, Princess.” the punch to her shoulder is playful but the look on his face is anything but. He looks scared but she can tell that he's trying to hide that for her benefit, not that she'd think any less of him.

 

“I guess so.”

 

Murphy clears his throat. “Uh, I hate to interrupt whatever is going on here but we kind of need to get going before we stand here so long we start to grow roots.”

 

There's a low rumble in the sky and if they didn't know better they'd assume it was a plane flying over.

 

“He's kind of right.” Monroe nods.

 

Clarke doesn't know whether she should say anything else, maybe she should hug him or something? She opens her mouth a few times but chickens out each time – she's pretty sure she's doing a pretty neat impression of a goldfish. It turns out that she doesn't need to worry, though, as Bellamy surges forward, wrapping her up tightly in his arms. She can't resist the urge to bury herself into the crook of his neck, tipping forward on her toes to grip him tighter.

 

“I'm gonna miss you so much, Bell, promise me you won't do anything stupid.” she breathes.

 

“I won't.” he promises, giving her one last squeeze before releasing her from his embrace. “Besides, O would kill me if I got myself killed out there.”

 

“May we meet again.”

 

“Oh, don't worry, Princess. We will.” and with that he's off down the hill to where Atom is waiting for them in the van.

 

Clarke stands there until they're out sight, a ball of worry sitting heavily in her stomach.

 

“You could just make this a whole lot easier for yourself.” Clarke jumps as Octavia suddenly appears at her side.

 

Eyes still on the horizon, Clarke lets out a half hearted sigh. “I'm not sure that I could.”

 

“If you just woman up and tell my stupid brother how you feel then things would be a hell of a lot better for you both.” the younger girl puts a hand on Clarkes shoulder. “Trust me.”

 

“It's not that easy, O.”

 

Octavia snorts and Clarke thinks that is she listens hard enough that she might actually be able to hear the sound of her eyes rolling. “When I say this, remember that I love you both. You two dorks need to get a grip and get over yourselves. It'll make your lives and my life so much easier.”

 

“How could that possibly make _your_ life easier?”

 

“Well for one thing, I wouldn't have to hear my brother whining all the time – and it's not like I can ignore him like the others, I feel more responsible for him since we're full siblings.” Octavia smirks. “Besides, I have a lot of drachma riding on this and if Bell's distracted then I can get away with whatever I want.”

 

And as quickly as she had appeared Octavia stalks off in the direction of the armoury.

 

-

 

For Clarke the next few weeks dragged so much that she had panicked that Kronos was making a comeback and messing with her. She'd tried to keep herself useful; she'd helped out some of the younger kids in the arts and crafts pavilion and spent the rest of her time in the med bay. There had been a particularly nasty accident of the climbing wall so she'd been busy tending wounds and checking bandages.

 

Luckily for Clarke (and for Fox and Myles), healing is in her blood – quite literally – so she'd been able to patch up all the kids and tend to their burns before they could get any sort of infection. They'd be in pain for a while but she made sure there was a ready supply of ambrosia and nectar ready for them, and Clarke was happy to stay with them to monitor for any infections.

 

“Clarke?” Fox asks one day after the older girl has finished her rounds.

 

Clarke hums in response, washing her hands in the basin before hanging her apron on the back of the door.

 

The younger girl blushes and fiddles with her hair. “Have you, uh, heard from Bellamy yet?”

 

She swallows. “N...No, not yet but Iris is always pretty busy so I'm hoping he'll get through soon.” she's not sure who she's trying to convince.

 

“Do you miss him?”

 

She nods, a lump forming in her throat. “Of course.”

 

“You two make such a cute couple.” Fox smiles dreamily. “I hope find someone like that.”

 

For a beat Clarke is stumped, unsure of what to say. “Uh, thanks.” Is what she settles on before making her excuses and ducking out of the room.

 

-

 

She's practising when the rainbow finally materialises in front of her, her last arrow nearly shattering the image as a mop of unruly curls and a freckled smile appear through the haze.

 

“Woah, careful there Princess. I make take it personally next time.” he smirks, Clarke smiles back when she sees the warmth in his eyes and hears the familiar playful tone to his voice. It's almost like he's there with her.

 

“Bell.” she breathes, bow falling out of her hands. She can't even bring herself to care if she's broken it – she's sure Raven will fix it for her before Wick notices.

 

He laughs. “I take it from your lack of words and the general look of wonderment plastered across your face that you're pleased to see me.”

 

“Is wonderment even a word?”

 

“You should know, nerd.”

 

She scoffs, “Well you're a nerd for missing a nerd, nerd.”

 

He raises his eyebrow. “Who says I miss you? I could just be calling to check on Octavia.”

 

“Oh please, Bellamy, it's written all over your face.”

 

“Have I missed much?”

 

“Not really, few accidents on the climbing wall but Raven thinks that she's got it sorted now so there's that.” Clarke pauses, noticing the fresh scar that darts through the freckles on his left cheek. “Hey, uh, do you know when you're coming home yet? It's been really weird not having you around the past few weeks.”

 

“We've managed to secure the bunker, got some more supplies from us – they even had some celestial bronze bullets so I'm thinking of speaking to Chiron about maybe updating the armoury. We should be home in the next few days, maybe five tops if we run into any trouble.” Clarke can see Monroe waving in the background so she reciprocates and smiles to herself knowing that they're all safe – even if Murphy can be a dick half the time. “So, I've basically run out of Drachma, but I'll see you soon okay?”

 

“Stay safe.”

 

“Will do, Princess.” he takes one last look at her and then he waves his hand through the image and he's gone just like that.

 

If Raven calls her out on her goofy smile all through lunch and again when they're sparing in the amphitheatre then that's nobodies business but hers.

 

-

 

It's been over a week since his Iris message and, honestly, she's beginning to worry. He'd said five days at the most and that was nearly nine days ago. She's got a niggling feeling that something awful must have happened to have held them up this long but she tries to push that thought to the back of her mind.

 

“You keep pacing.” Raven accuses. They're sat outside the forge and Raven is tying up the brace she's made for her leg. There had been an incident the week before when Raven had tried out her new chariot design for the races next month and she's been thrown off rather badly, ending up underneath one of the wheels. She's not happy that she can't participate but Clarke thinks she's secretly pleased that she's been able to develop some tech that'll be able to help her walk and maybe convince Chiron to change his mind.

 

“I do not.”

 

“Uh, yeah you do.” she sighs, strapping the last piece in place. “I know you're worried but there's no need to take it out on the grass, you've practically burned a hole in the ground.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“He's a big boy, Clarke, he can handle himself you know he can.”

 

She's not wrong. Clarke knows that Bellamy is more than capable at what he does, he's been training for it long enough, but she can't help but worry about him. She supposes that it must be part of his big brotherly instinct but he has this pathological need to protect everyone around him even at the expense of himself. “But I also know about his stupid hero complex – he just acts without really thinking it through.”

 

“In case you haven't noticed, we have spent the best part of our teenage years training to be heroes. If this was anyone else you wouldn't even bat an eyelid.”

 

Clarke groans and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “I would.”

 

Raven rolls her eyes. “You're so transparent.”

 

“I am not transparent! I'm opaque...don't look at me like that, gods, fine I might be a little bit transparent, translucent maybe?”

 

“Whatever you say Clarke. Now are you going to help me or not?”

 

-

 

She sees him before he sees he and she's off at a run before Raven can get out the rest of her sentence. Clarke doesn't think she could stop herself from hurtling towards him even if she tried, feet moving of their own accord as she makes her way towards him. She thinks for a moment that she spends too much time running across camp but she doesn't care knowing that he's waiting for her.

 

Once she reaches him she doesn't even stop to think, just launches herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist not even caring if she's making a scene. He doesn't react at first, stumbling back with the unexpected weight of her and then he's hugging her back just as ferociously. She doesn't even notice that she's crying until Bellamy pulls back and she sees the marks on his shirt.

 

“Was it something I said?” he teases but she just can't seem to stop the tears. “Hey, Clarke, it's okay. I'm okay.”

 

“I know.” she sniffles. “I thought you weren't and I'm just really pleased to see you.”

 

“You've got a funny way of showing it.” he chuckles, tucking her into his side as if they'd just finished sparing. “Come on, let's find this sister of mine before she beats me for not telling her I'm home.”

 

As soon as she hears footsteps Octavia looks up, face splitting into a grin at the sight of her brother. “Have you two finally got you shit together or what?” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth. No-one can deny that Octavia Blake doesn't beat around the bush.

 

Bellamy pouts. “Oh hi, Bellamy. It's so nice to see you alive and well after your recent brush with death, come here and give your loving sister a hug.” he snarks, eyebrow tilting..

 

Thankfully, Octavia knows her brother well enough to take the hint and doesn't waste another second before she's barrelling into him with as much force as she can muster.

 

“That's more like it.” he grins, pulling Clarke in. “My two favourite girls welcoming me home.”

 

“Oh please.” Octavia sighs.

 

“Save it, O. Anyway, I believe we made it back in time for the races next week.”

 

“Sure did, big brother, now we need to work out how to crush our opposition.” the determined expression on her face turns guilty for a second when she looks at Clarke. But she doesn't sound at all apologetic when she tells Clarke that she and Wick will be eating their dust. “Come on, Bell, we need to talk strategy – you've waisted enough time already.”

 

“ _Waisted_ enough time?” he repeats, disbelievingly. “I've been on a quest, O, not a summer holiday.”

 

“Whatever. Are you coming or not? I refuse to lose two years in a row.”

“I'll catch you later?” he asks, turning back to Clarke.

 

“Sure.” she smiles.

 

He's about to leave with his sister but he stops as they're about the exit the amphitheatre, jogging back over to her. “I, uh, forgot something.” he blushes, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

 

Her hand flies up to the spot as she watches him go. This was new. But if casual affection was something they did now then she guesses she was cool with it.

 

-

 

He's been back for three days and he's already causing trouble for her. Well, not trouble exactly but she's finding it rather difficult to concentrate on her sketching or anything when he insists on interrupting her constantly. If he's not trying to badger her into helping him with his archery, then he's pestering her to spend a couple of hours sparing in the amphitheatre. She's almost sure it's deliberate but she's also noticed a change about him since he's been back that she can't seem to pin down other than the fact that he's been trying to spend a lot more time with her recently.

 

She's sat on the bank, next to the lake, a small yet warm breeze filtering along the shore line, her pencil gliding across her paper. Clarke is just listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees and letting the sun beat down on her as she draws up the final designs for the Apollo chariot. She's tried to steer clear of the cliché's but, on a day like this, she can't help but scatter yellow and orange along the sides of the carriage.

 

She's hasn't seen Bellamy all day, which is a good thing as far as her productivity is concerned, but she knows he's swimming lengths in the lake. It's purely a coincidence, of course, that she's chosen to sit so near to the lake – it truly is one of the better places to get work done at camp – but it comes with the added benefit of being close to her best friend. Sue her. She's pretty sure that if Raven were here she'd be making some sort of snarky comment about her transparency but she can't find it in herself to care when she hears his laugh drifting over from the water.

 

Clarke looks up from her work and sees him as he's sending a crest of water towards his sister, a wave of affection for him blossoming in her chest. Octavia is pouting in his direction with her soaked hair slicked back across her head, fists balled at her side, and Clarke thinks that if she listened hard enough then she'd be able to hear the younger girls shouts of protest. She suppresses a laugh and then turns back to her sketch book since she's not willing to let him distract her any longer. (She realises that this is a flawed plan when she catches herself sneaking glances to the shore line every few minutes).

 

About half an hour later, Clarke hears footsteps making their way up the shingle and she resolves to actually keep her concentration this time and doesn't take her eyes of the sketch pad in front of her. She thinks she's nearly finished but, knowing her friends like she does, Clarke thinks she's probably going to have to come up with a few more defensive measures before taking her designs back to her cabin.

 

“Clarke, hey!” he calls and she refuses to look up from her work, she's not going to give him the satisfaction of distracting her yet again. She's pretty sure he's trying to put her off from her work – she wouldn't put it past him or his siblings – and she has to admit that it's been working so far much to her chagrin.

 

Clarke doesn't react to him at all, even when she can feel him looming above her, casting a shadow across her work, and can hear him pointedly clearing his throat. She continues to drag her pencil across the page, determined to not let him distract her again. She already has Wick breathing down her neck as it is, she doesn't need any more reasons to fall behind.

 

“Clarke!” he tries again, tapping her lightly on the shoulder, and this time she can't ignore him.

 

She looks up, tucking her pencil behind her ear, and then immediately wishes that she hadn't. Her mouth hangs open and she's pretty sure she wouldn't even notice if she swallowed a fly. So much for finishing her designs today.

 

He's stood there, tiny droplets of water dripping off his dark curls, brown eyes shining in the sunlight. Her eyes follow the drops as they roll down, over his tanned chest and, then lower, over his abs. He brings his hand up and runs it through his hair with a lazy smile and she just can't seem to tear her eyes away from him. He shifts and his towel falls, hanging lower on his hips and she suddenly feels too hot for her skin.

 

This is not fair, she curses ever deity she can think of – and she knows a few. He's not only shirtless, but wet and shirtless which is, arguably, both the best and the worst combination. And she's not sure what's come over her, just that it can't be healthy.

 

“Uh, h...hi.” she blushes, ducking her head in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. It's not like she's never seen him shirtless before but for some reason this time feels a little different. A lot different.

 

“What are you doing? I thought you said you had to help your brothers?” he asks.

 

She shrugs, failing to stop her eyes from glueing themselves to his chest. “I, uh, drawing.”

 

“As articulate as ever I see.” he laughs and his shoulders shake in a way that makes a lump form in her throat. “Want to get something to eat?”

 

“Yeah. Sounds, uh, great.” she mumbles, kicking herself for acting like some kind of idiot. “Help me up?”

 

She regrets asking as soon as he holds out a hand to her, muscles flexing as he easily helps her up. In fact, he pulls her up a little too fast sending her falling against his chest with a soft thud. Her hands reflexively spring up and cushion her landing, her palms spreading over his chest. The contrast of her pale fingers against him mesmerises her for a second before she manages to pull herself together. Since when does she act this weird around her best friend – or anybody for that matter?

 

“Why are you pulling that face?” he asks, cutting into her thoughts.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“Your face? Are you okay?” his eyebrows are furrowed and she can see the concern in his eyes.

 

She nods. “Yeah, fine. Great. Brilliant even.”

 

It couldn't be further from the truth.

 

-

 

“Nu-uh, Bellamy, you cannot be in here again. No way, out!” she grumbles.

 

“Oh, come on.” he smiles easily, leaning against the door frame. “I was only coming to see if you wanted to get some last minute practising before tomorrow.”

 

“Sure you are, Bellamy.” She stands, hands on hips, trying to block the chariot from his view. “But if Wick catches you in here again and I have to sit through another lecture about fraternising with the enemy then I cannot and will not be held responsible for my actions.” she adds, brandishing her paint brush as if it were a sword.

 

He moves away from the door. “Don't be like that, Clarke. You've been holed up in here all week and I've missed hanging out with my best friend.”

 

“Well one more night wont hurt, then, so if you don't mind I've got a chariot to finish so we can kick your butts tomorrow.” she turns back to the wheel that she'd been working on.

 

The next thing she know is she's being lifted into the air and slung over his shoulder. She squirms against him, trying to get him to put her down but it just makes her laughs as he begins to walk them both out of the work shop.

 

“Bellamy Blake!” she squeals, pummelling her fists against his back. “Put me down right now or so help me...”

 

He laughs. “No can do, Princess, we're having fun tonight.”

 

“Uh, I was busy! This is deliberate sabotage – you just don't want me to finish my chariot so you and Octavia can win!”

 

“I'm offended that you think so little of me, Clarke. Besides, all you were doing was painting the wheels it's not vital.”

 

“You are such an ass, do you know that?!”

 

“So I've been told.” he laughs again, shoulders shaking, and she finds that her anger just washes away. “Now, can I put you down yet – you're getting kind of heavy?”

 

“Yes, you can put me down, but you had to ruin it didn't you?” she frowns as he puts her back the right way up. “What've you got planned?”

 

He pauses, thinking. “I'm feeling kind of nostalgic, want to head to the arena for old times sake? I was serious about getting some practice in. O really wants to win tomorrow – she thinks it'll impress Lincoln or something.”

 

“Wait, you know about that?”

 

Bellamy shrugs. “I'm her big brother, it's my job to know! I'm not happy about it but you've met my sister and it's not like she listens to anything I have to say. Anyway, are you ready to practice or not?”

 

“That depends, are you ready to lose?”

 

“Ha! Not a chance but I admire your optimism.”

 

-

 

The sun is sinking low in the sky and she's sure they must have missed their evening meal but Clarke doesn't care. She's having fun beating her friend up and he's right she probably has been spending too much time on the chariot. It's not like she'd been actively avoiding him but she thought maybe if she concentrated on something else then she wouldn't have to worry about the feelings that she was having. Always had. Was finally realising that she'd always had them?

 

“This is ridiculous.” she laughs, blocking another one of his lunges. “You're ridiculous.” she adds. “We should be saving our strength for the morning -” she takes another swing at him with her sword - “Not wasting our energy like this. I have my dads honour to defend tomorrow.”

 

Bellamy steps back, shield raised. “There was a time when you used to be fun.”

 

“I'm fun!” she growls, turning around and slamming her shield into his wrist with just the right amount of force to make the sword drop out of his hand. There's a smug smile on her face when she kicks it out of his reach as soon as it hits the ground, holding her sword out as a challenge.

 

He goes wide-eyed for a second, clutching his shield with both hands as she rains down a series of blows in quick succession. She drives him backwards towards the bleachers and she's smug, thinking that she's beaten him but really she should've known better than to assume that she's beaten Bellamy Blake, son of Ares. He feigns back and then pushes her with all his strength, knocking her to the floor, but she's quick and manages to hook her heel around his ankle so that she takes him down with her.

 

They hit the ground and then Clarke rolls them over so she's straddling him, not prepared to let him win. Her heart is pounding wildly, hammering against her chest, as she tries to catch her breath. She feels flushed, cheeks hot and palms sweaty, but she chalks that up to the sparing session – it's been a while since she's used this much energy. “See, I'm fun.”

 

“Mmm, fun. Yeah.” Bellamy mumbles, shifting underneath her ever so slightly. If she didn't know better then she'd say that he was blushing, tan cheeks looking rosy in the dying light.

 

“You don't seem convinced.” she laughs, throwing her sword to the side.

 

He looks uncomfortable, squirming beneath her as she sits up in his lap. And then he flips them over so she's pinned beneath him and then, taking full advantage of her surprise, trapping her hands above her head. He leans in and for a second she thinks he might close the gap between them in a totally different way but then he laughs, low in her ear. “That's because I'm not, Princess.”

Clarke Griffin isn't stupid. Or blind. Or at all unappreciative of the male form (or the female for that matter). She, like any other person who's into guys can see how unfairly attractive her best friend is. (It's kind of hard to miss when you spend every day together with the closest thing to a mortal Greek god – Michelangelo's David can eat his heart out, Bellamy Blake is very much the real deal). Yet up close, she can't help but get a better view and there's no way she can write off the fluttering in her stomach as anything but what it actually is.

 

She can see the way his scar is healing, nearly translucent on his skin as it darts across his cheek, and she actually has to stop herself from reaching out and tracing her finger along the jagged line. His eyes are always intense, stormy and dark – and she's never been more sure that brown eyes are highly underrated – but there's something new in them now that she hasn't seen before. It's new and exciting but she realises that neither of them have moved in too long, air mingling between them. And she gets that weird feeling again just like she had by the lake.

 

“Clarke, Jasper said he thought you might be in –” Wicks face drains before his cheeks flush red, hands flying up to cover his eyes. “Oh god – I didn't know – sorry. Gods, I'll, uh, go. Sorry.”

 

The pair spring apart and Clarke is pretty sure she's never moved that quickly before. Or felt more embarrassed. “No. no. It's okay we weren't –”

 

“Nothing happened, uh, we were just, uh – ” Bellamy stutters and Clarke can see the way he's blushing.

 

Wick laughs, smug grin plastered across his face. “Sure guys, whatever you say. I was just coming to tell you that we're all set for tomorrow but I can see that you're busy so I'll see you in the morning.”

 

“That's ridiculous. It's not what it looks like!” she calls after him lamely. Gods, this is going to be all around camp in the morning. “It's not like that.”

 

Clarke hears Bellamy sigh and then he mumbles something under his breath which sounds a lot like “Would it be so wrong if it was?” She can hear the hurt in his voice.

 

She turns to stop him, to convince him that she didn't mean it like that, but she's too late and he's already gone.

 

-

 

“I am officially the worst friend in the world.” Clarke groans, slinging a saddle over one of their horses. “No-one can convince me otherwise.”

 

“Relax, there's no need to inflict your misery on the poor horse.” Raven sighs, loosening the strap a little. Okay, so maybe Clarke was wound a little tight after the events of the night before but she'd been up all night tossing and turning and generally feeling guilty about ruining things with her best friend. “You need to loosen up a bit before the race or you're going to fall straight on your ass and then I will laugh, cementing my fate as the worst friend.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes.

 

“But seriously Clarke, this is not the end of the world. Maybe if the two of you weren't so stubborn about listening to your friends then this whole situation could have been avoided.” she says, heading back towards her own chariot. “You want to kiss him, he _clearly_ wants to kiss you so, really, the only person you have to blame is Wick for interrupting your moment.”

 

“Hey!” Wick shouts as he straps on the last of his armour, but it falls on deaf ears since Raven is already gone. “As much as I hate to say it -” (Clarke knows he doesn't hate to say anything as far as Raven is concerned but that's another problem entirely) “ - but she's right, you know. If the pair of you spent half as much time talking to each other about your feelings as you do to the rest of us then I wouldn't have any situations to interrupt.” he pauses. “At least, I hope I wouldn’t because you're my sister and I don't need those kind of images in my head!”

 

“Ewh, gross!” she yells, throwing an apple at his head. “I knew there was a reason I never come to you when I have problems.” she adds, storming off to find her helmet.

 

All of the armour and weaponry for the day has been laid out on a large table that's been dragged over from the mess hall. The table bears the banner of last years winners, the silver owl draped delicately across it, and each pair of competitors has their equipment next to each other, coloured bands to denote who is who once the race has begun and the teams are hurtling around the track.

 

She's one of the last to get her helmet, awkwardly shuffling past the Ares team as the pair bicker back and forth and she manages to grab it and make her way back without either of them seeing her. And if she thought she was feeling bad in the morning, hearing Octavia shouting at her brother made her feel even worse.

 

“Get a grip Bell! This had better not put you off your game today.” Octavia grumbles, the crest of her helmet as fiery as the tone of her voice.

 

“For the last time, O, I'm fine. Just leave it.” he growls and Clarkes heart sinks a little more as she slinks back to where the start line. He hasn't sounded that upset in a while. That was the thing about Bellamy, the angrier he sounds the sadder he is, which can't be good because she's heard that you shouldn't drive a car when you're emotional so she assumes that driving a chariot is much the same principle.

 

She thinks about maybe saying something to clear the air but ultimately she decides against it when she catches Octavia's eye and the other girl is scowling at her. If she's learnt one thing at camp it's that you shouldn't get in to it with a child or Ares when they're all pumped up ready for a war game.

 

Before she knows it, the chariots are all taking their positions at the start line and Chiron is reading out the rules (they all know them, of course, but it's more for ceremony that anything else). She glances up the line and tries to size up her competition, seeing how the pairs have sorted themselves into drivers and defenders.

 

She's almost glad that Raven has to sit this one out, but the chariot she has designed looks absolutely terrifying and Clarke hates to think about all the contraptions that her friend has hidden away inside the vehicle – it's as formidable as the girl who made it. Going with the tradition for their cabin, one of Ravens siblings has forged a pair of mechanical stallions which look equally terrifying – steam flying out of their nostrils as they paw at the ground.

 

Monty is driving his silver chariot, two owls sitting on the cross bar and Clarke suspects that they might not be as innocent as they look. One of his sisters is armed with a sword and has a wicked gleam in her eyes but she looks nowhere near as intimidating as Octavia who's ready to charge in to battle, her brother standing back to back with her, spear in his hands and dismal expression on his face. They make a unnerving team.

 

She's surprised to see that the Aphrodite kids have make a chariot for this years event – they usual prefer to sit on the sidelines and watch since the majority aren't born fighters – but it actually looks half decent even though Finn is stood at the back, arms in the air and playing up to the crowd with a flourish of his hands. He produces a rose out of the air and throws it into the air towards a group of dryads who are falling over themselves to catch it.

 

“Charioteers to your marks!” Chiron calls, stepping forward, horn in his hands.

 

Clarke jumps up into the back of the chariot, back to back with Wick whose gripping tightly onto the reigns, bow in hand and spear by her side just in case. You can never really tell how a chariot race is going to go, anything can happen as the light wood of the chariots whip round the hair pin corners so it's best to be prepared for all eventualities. No-one wants to end their day being scraped up off the track and Clarke would like to avoid becoming a human pancake if possible.

 

“I want you to use as few arrows as you can.” Wick murmurs. He'd spent the last few days designing some special alterations to the arrows, apparently they'd provide some sort of smoke screen once they hit their mark but they haven't actually tested them out yet. “They're a pain in the ass to make.”

 

“Don't worry, I plan on a clean race. I'm only getting involved when I have to. You concentrate on the chariot and leave the rest to me. I know what I’m doing.”

 

The crowd fall silent and for a moment anticipation hums in the air as everyone waits. Then, the horn sounds and all of the chariots roar to life, crowd screaming for their team. All that Clarke can hear is the thundering of hooves against the track and the noise coming from the rest of the campers but she can't make anything out, shouts of encouragement mingling together.

 

They make it about half way around the first lap of the track when Clarke hears a crack and sees the Aphrodite chariot slamming into the chariot made by the children of Demeter, some of the wood splintering off and hitting the dirt track below. She watches as Finn uses a rubber ended javelin to push at the driver, the two carts smacking together as the drivers try to desperately separate. Eventually the riders get thrown and the two horses charge on, dragging the chariot behind them, and Finn rides on momentarily victorious.

 

She could feel the tension coming from Wick as they take the first corner, Octavia over taking them with a wicked grin as her skeletal horses snort dust as they gallop past. She knows that one of the main reasons that Ares kids use these horses is to freak out the other teams and she can't deny that the exposed bones send a chill up her spine. Clarke shakes the thought from her head and then notices that Monty's chariot is gaining on them, followed by the teams of Hermes and Dionysus, with the Hephaestus chariot pulling out in front.

 

From her vantage point at the back of the chariot she can see how the white horses drawing the Aphrodite carriage are gaining on the wine coloured chariot. She can't be sure but she thinks she sees Finn trying to use his javelin to jam the wheel, a dangerous tactic to say the least. The snap that she hears next confirms that as the wheel breaks off Jaspers chariot, sending the chariot into a roll and leaving the campers in the dust as their horses rear up onto their hind legs, nearly trampling the riders in the melee.

 

Monty and Miller's chariots are sparring behind her and Clarke can see that it's making them slow down, imagining the smug look on Octavia's face as the two teams drag further behind the rest of the pack. The Aphrodite chariot speeds past them and comes up close to the Apollo chariot who, in turn, are gaining on Ares. One of the horses from a felled chariot darts out onto the track and Octavia swerves into the path of Wick, smacking the two chariots together and nearly throwing Clarke off the back as it jolts to the side.

 

She can feel herself losing balance and her heart is pounding in her ears because if she falls off now she is sure to be trampled underneath the hooves of the horses of the chariots behind. Clarke stumbles again as they hit a rut in the road and she feels herself falling. But then a strong hand is clasping her wrist and Bellamy is steadying her, other hand holding on to the side of his chariot. Their wagons are so close together that they may as well be one and she mouths a quick thank you to him and then their chariots are careening to the left as the Aphrodite team slam into Octavia and Bellamy.

 

“What the fuck, man?” Octavia yells, trying to pull away. “Bell, what's going on back there?”

 

“I don't know!” he shouts back.

 

Clarke strains to look across and see what the hell Finn is up to but all she can see is the two boys shouting and trying to land a blow. She can't concentrate on the race whilst the pair of them are brawling at high speed on the least stable mode of transport known, so she notches one of her arrows and sends it in Finns direction. It smacks him in his stronger arm and distracts him long enough for Octavia to begin to pull away and put some space in between them.

 

She can't work out what's got into Finn – yes, he can be annoying but he's always tried to be the peace keeper at camp before now. And he decides to chose now, when they're in the middle of the most dangerous game at camp, to be the time to be a dick and try and prove himself. He's already done that with his mothers Rite of Passage and that hadn't ended well for anyone involved.

 

The three chariots manage to separate themselves, Ares leading and Apollo bringing up the rear as the Aphrodite cabin swerves dangerously between them. A scrap of wood flies back and catches Clarke's cheek, splitting the skin and she winces at the pain. Clarke can feel the sweat beading on her forehead and her heart is pounding wildly as she can only watch as Finn begins to rain down a series of blows to Bellamys side. Objectively, she knows that Bellamy is a much better swordsman but from the angle he's having to fight at it's beginning to takes its toll.

 

They're coming up to the home stretch now, crowd noise almost deafening as the camps stamp their feet in the stands, someone needs to do something and fast before the three chariots case a pile up and they're all thrown onto the track. She almost regrets thinking that as she notices Finn bend down and pick something up, pausing a second before hurling the smoking green parcel towards the Ares team.

 

Without taking a second to think, Clarke notches an arrow and manages to hit the bundle whilst it's still in the air. She can't believe that Finn's even managed to get his hands on Greek Fire, let alone managed to sneak the prohibited item onto the race track. Everyone knows how dangerous it can be – the chariots being highly flammable with all the wood and paint – so to risk this is hugely dangerous. It isn't worth the glory if winning if you have to resort to underhand tactics like these – every team has their modified weaponry but this is low.

 

Clarke watches as a few of the fragments fall onto Bellamy's chariot and one of the sparks catches his shirt, setting it alight. She can only look an as he pats at the flames, scorching his palms, but manages to put them out before it gets out of hand.

 

“You have to get Octavia to slow down!” Clarke shouts, urging Bellamy to get his sisters attention. “He's not going to stop – it's not worth it.”

 

He sighs before shouting back to his sister, getting her to pull on the reigns and pull back from the front of the pack. Clarke gets Wick to pull back too and they watch on as the Aphrodite chariot thunders after the Hephaestus cabin. It seems like all of Finn's efforts were a waste as Raven's chariot storms to victory, leaving the other chariot in the dust.

 

The rest of the chariots slow down to a trot and come to a halt shortly before the finish, riders dismounting. Out of the corner of her eye Clarke sees Jasper being carried towards the Infirmary, a few of his siblings carrying the stretcher. There's a lot of chatter amongst the charioteers, many sending angry looks towards Finn, and she hears a few of the boys shouting insults in his general direction.

 

Clarke stumbles off the back of her chariot, blood smeared across her cheek and sweat matting her hair and making it stick to her forehead. She can feel the anger bubbling in her veins as she marches over towards the podium and she thinks that the look on her face right now could turn even Medusa to stone. Finn must know what's coming because at least he has the decency to look guilty.

 

“What the fuck?” She doesn't even give him the chance to say anything before she's swinging her first into his face. “You could have gotten someone killed out there? Are you crazy?”

 

“Clarke, wait I did it to impress yo-” Finn starts, hand on his cheek.

 

“You have got to be kidding me right now. You didn't do that for anyone but yourself!” she shouts, marching away from him as quickly as she can, not wanting to be anywhere near him.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks once she's nearly at his chariot. Bellamy is sitting on the back of his chariot, Octavia examining his side, and Clarke can see a purple bruise starting to form across his collar bone even from a distance. “Uh, stupid question, I know...” she trails off.

 

“I'll leave you guys to, uh, talk or whatever.” Octavia sighs, the look she sends Clarke isn't anywhere near as murderous as it had been earlier so she takes it as a minor victory.

 

Bellamy nods, although she can see that the side of his shirt has been scorched. “I've been better but I'll live.”

 

She takes a seat next to him, “I'm sorry.”

 

“What for? This wasn't your fault.” he asks, gently bumping their shoulders together.

 

“I don't mean about today, although I feel partly responsible for that since Finn apparently did it to impress me. I didn't mean to dismiss you like that the other day.” she murmurs, placing her hand over his on his knee. He looks up at the touch, smiling almost shyly up at her. “I didn't mean for it to sound that way... I thought... I don't know –”

 

“It's okay, you know.” he begins, lacing their fingers together. “I over reacted, I shouldn't have expected you to feel the same way, it was unfair of me to assume –”

 

Before she has the time to change her mind, Clarke leans forward, cutting him off by pressing a hard kiss against his chapped lips. She can taste the sweat on his upper lip but what does that matter, really. At first he's startled, words dying on her lips, but then he seems to realise what's happening and his free hand flies up to cup her cheek. She can't even bring herself to care that he's smearing blood across her cheek because they're kissing. Clarke and Bellamy. Best friends. Are kissing.

 

It's been a long time in the making – they've been a long time in the making and everyone seems to have known this was going to happen except the pair of them – but that's probably what makes it so great. She catches her breath as he nips at her bottom lip and her arms come up, fingers looping through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her.

 

Whenever she'd imagined this in the past (which was more than she would ever admit to anyone), being sweaty and gross and covered in each others blood was never a scenario she had catered for but it was kind of brilliant all the same. She probably looks half dead but she's never felt more alive than she does in this moment.

 

Eventually they pull apart for air, both panting and cheeks flushed.

 

Bellamy looks startled but only for a second before a huge grin begins to spread across his face. “So, uh, does this change things?”

 

“Nah, it won't change a thing. You're still my best friend but I guess there's just going to be more making out and stuff.” she shrugs, fighting to keep the smile off her face – she knows she's failing miserably.

 

“And stuff?” he smirks. “Hmm, I like the sound of that.”


End file.
